


Guinevere Loved Lancelot

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: Set after 2x04. Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Gwen, mentions of Gwen/Lancelot Arthur loved Merlin like a man loved the air he breathed and the land he cultivated to sustain his family.





	

Guinevere loved Lancelot. She loved him. She loved his goodness and his nobility and his kindness and everything else Arthur admired about him anyway. It wasn’t that he blamed her. He wasn’t even angry. It just _hurt_. It hurt in a low place, just below his sternum. Like Leon had just spent an entire day stabbing him through his chainmail. He even checked his ribs and felt for a bruise or a broken bone, anything that would explain this constant dull ache. It throbbed with his pulse, weighing down each step, though he couldn’t let on. Couldn’t show a hint of the pain he was in. Pain meant weakness, so Arthur’s stride was long and sure and he moved with _purpose_. 

What purpose could be left? Guinevere loved Lancelot. 

Arthur was prepared to dig in deep, to press a thumb against his bruised heart, and really explore this pain. He needed to be alone. He couldn’t stand the sight of another human being. He wanted to sit alone in his chambers and stare at the deepening embers and think about Gwen’s eyes in the sunlight. He wanted to ride through the shadows in the forest and mull on the color of her hair. Not that he had the luxury to do either of those things. The affairs of Camelot didn’t stop just because a maidservant broke his heart by falling in love with the bravest, most courageous man Arthur had ever met. 

Besides that consideration, there was the fact that Arthur was _never_ alone. 

“You’ve still got me, sire!” 

Arthur wasn’t prepared for just how true that turned out to be. If he wanted to have a good brood in the morning, Merlin was all underfoot with his breakfast and his cheerful smile. Always on time. Every single day. And then he was accompanying Arthur down to the field for practice, chattering on about the latest castle gossip while he trotted after Arthur’s longer stride. In the afternoon, Arthur was often locked in meetings with his father and the council so Gwen couldn’t intrude on his thoughts. Which was a hardship, because it was really the only time Merlin wasn’t buzzing around his head, distracting him. 

Merlin always had his dinner laid out for him by the time he made it back to his chambers. Then he settled down in the corner with Arthur’s armor, and how was Arthur supposed to consider all the different permeations of Gwen’s smile when Merlin was _humming_ to himself. If Arthur didn’t know better, he would believe that Merlin had launched a one-man campaign against Arthur’s loneliness, combating it at every turn by making sure that Arthur never had a chance to actually be alone. 

It never occurred to Arthur to send him away. To simply order him out the door. He wouldn’t even have to speak. He’d just have to grunt and sort of gesture at the door, and Merlin would scurry him away. Sometimes. Sometimes Merlin would look at him like he didn’t have a thought rattling around in his head. Sometimes Merlin would just hum _louder_ until the stupid, tuneless song was running circles behind Arthur’s eyes. It was actually hard to tell what Merlin would do and Arthur wanted to consider the way Gwen’s hair curled, and how sometimes she had flowers tucked behind her ear. 

Arthur’s days were a steady routine of fighting and yelling at Merlin and thinking about all the time he didn’t have to think about the pain in his chest. The pain that never really faded. It was just there and Arthur didn’t know what to do about it. Thinking about her hurt. Not thinking about her hurt. Guinevere loved Lancelot. With her good heart and her expansive spirit and her pure faith. 

At least he wasn’t so far gone that anybody noticed he was pining. Everybody looked at him the same and treated him the same. Or they all politely ignored it when he gazed at her for just a beat too long. Well, not everybody was oblivious. Merlin noticed. Arthur was beginning to think he couldn’t have any of his own secrets. He was cursed with a confidante he didn’t want. One who could apparently read his mind. How else would a half-wit like Merlin know so much about him? It was probably some kind of sorcery. 

Eventually, the pain settled in so deep that Arthur barely noticed it. It didn’t fade, it just…settled. Like sediment at the bottom of a slow-moving river. Arthur found some relief in that. He could live the rest of his life with this pain. It was no more than a mild twinge. Arthur had no intention of falling in love again—once in a lifetime was quite enough for him. Love was, in Arthur’s measured opinion, quite a useless waste of time. He’d spent so much time admiring Gwen, adoring her for everything she was, and how had he been rewarded? With the sight of her wide, true eyes fixed on Lancelot like he was a treasure above all in Albion. 

Arthur was sure that sort of agony was well behind him until Katrina arrived to dismantle his world piece by piece. He’d lost everything that ever mattered to him. He never realized how much it meant to him that Uther honored Ygraine’s memory until Uther fell in love with another woman. And when Uther stripped him of his inheritance, Arthur felt as though he’d been stripped entirely of his identity. What was he if he wasn’t the Crown Prince? _Who_ was he? But that old, familiar pain just below his breastbone flared to life well before that, when Uther ordered Merlin’s arrest. 

An old pro at hiding his deepest hurts, Arthur marched ahead of his knights, directing them to look in all the most ridiculous places. Did they really think Merlin was going to be hiding a hay wagon? Merlin was lazy but not _that_ lazy. He was doing laundry, like he did every three days. He didn’t do it _well_ , but he did finish the task and keep Arthur in freshly laundered linens and bedclothes. While the search party stomped through the lower town and marched through the castle, Merlin was calmly folding Arthur’s shirts. 

As he sent Merlin away, he truly believed he was sending him away forever. He didn’t know if Merlin was actually guilty of the crime Katrina accused him of and he didn’t care. Merlin was not going to be executed on that woman’s word. He could go on day to day if Merlin was gone from Camelot, but he didn’t want to know what his life would be like if Merlin was really, truly _gone_. 

There had been a time in the not-too-distant past when he’d close his eyes and see nothing but Gwen’s proud face and he would remember the exact spot of each freckle. Now when he closed his eyes, he saw Merlin surprised and frightened and strangely defiant. Prepared to defend his right to remain at Arthur’s side even as the king’s guards marched closer to the bedroom door. He saw Merlin’s eyes widen and the moment he realized that Arthur was truly sending him away. He relived that moment again and again in his emotional tumult, zeroing in on that second because everything else hurt and this hurt the most of all. 

When Merlin returned because of course Merlin would never be smart enough to save his own life, Arthur had felt nothing except relief. Just seeing Merlin’s goofy face gave him a measure of hope. And Arthur realized he never needed to worry about loving Merlin. He could wrap that love around his battered heart and use it to shield himself against the sharp corners and razor thin blades that made up his life. Because Merlin was never going to leave him. 

Guinevere loved Lancelot, but Arthur still had Merlin. With that realization, he lost the impulse to press on the bruise and pick the scab. And as with any battle wound, given enough time, it began to heal over. He still loved Gwen. But that love wasn’t tender or sore. It didn’t weaken him anymore than the scar on his thigh weakened him during a fight. She could have Lancelot or anything else she wanted. He would deliver Camelot to her feet, and then Albion, if she asked it of him, and he would care for her, take care of her, as long as he lived. He could do that because Merlin loved him. Would always love him. And that love was a living, breathing thing. It was tender and sore, painful and wonderful in turns. It was good. 

Lancelot loved Guinevere like a knight should love his lady. Arthur loved Merlin like a man loved the air he breathed and the land he cultivated to sustain his family. 

One day, Gwen became Queen of Camelot. Her heart still belonged to Lancelot. Arthur’s heart still belonged to her. But Merlin possessed the best parts of Arthur, cradling his soul and his destiny in the palm of his hand.


End file.
